Vanessa Jago stepped out of the lift and strode purposefully down the corridor. More than one of the besuited men in the vicinity cast admiring glances at the retreating back of the slim blonde, creating daydreams around the small firm buttocks that bounced under her tight dress with every step.
Reaching a door, she opened it without knocking and entered a modest reception room. It was stylishly decked out in blues and greys and chrome. The only real splash of colour was a small bunch of red carnations in a vase on the corner of an impeccably tidy desk at one side of the room. Behind the desk sat a groomed but unshowy woman wearing a high-necked ivory blouse and tortoiseshell spectacles. Her dark hair was tied loosely into a bun. She was in the process of daintily eating an apricot yogurt when Vanessa entered.
Unhurried, she placed the yogurt pot to one side and laid the spoon on top of it. She smiled at the visitor. "Good morning, Mrs Jago."
"Hello Angela. Did you tell him I phoned?"
"Of course. He is expecting you."
"Have you settled in over the last, how long is it, six months?"
"Oh yes, I'm enjoying it. I know I'm lucky to get such a job at my age."
Vanessa knew that Angela was in her early forties, which seemed impossibly old to the twenty-four year old blonde woman.
"And with Harry being off work with a bad back the money is really useful," continued Angela.
"I'm glad you're happy here," said Vanessa. "Lord knows he'd be hopeless without someone as efficient as you to run things.
"Why, thank you," said Angela. She pressed a button on the intercom. " Mr Jago, your wife is here."
"Show her in."
Without waiting for confirmation from Angela, Vanessa opened the wooden door of the main office and went in.
Her husband sat behind his wide solid desk. The vertical blinds behind partially obscured the view of office buildings across the street. Mr Jago ran a hand through his tousled black hair. He was only three or four years older than Vanessa.
"Vanessa, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
Mrs Jago seemed not to hear the question. She looked around her at the neat office. "I must say Matthew, this place appears more businesslike every time I come here. When I remember what a state the place was in before you employed Angela."
"Yes, you're right, she is a godsend."
"Aren't you glad I sat in on the interviews? If I had left it up to you you would have picked one of those young things with legs up to their armpits and buttons open down to their navels. They would have spent all day filing their nails." Vanessa's own nails were manicured once a week by a girl at the Avalon Beauty Salon while she had her hair styled.
"They could all type and do shorthand."
"I'm sure they had all sorts of talents dear."
"Vanessa, I have a lot to do..."
"I need to use your credit card, dear," she said suddenly.
"I've seen a gorgeous pair of Christian Louboutins and I just have to have them but I'll max out on both of my cards if I use them, so if you give me one of yours..."
Matthew thought that Christian Louboutins must be shoes. He stood up. "How did you manage to get up to your limit?"
"Really Matthew, there's no need to bite my head off. I had to pay for my two weeks in the health spa, my gym membership has just come round, then there are my tennis lessons, and I simply had to have a new dress." She perched herself on a corner of his desk and crossed her elegant legs. "It costs money to look like this, you know. Or would you prefer to take me to business parties dressed like an overweight tramp?"
"Surely you could make some economies. For a start, you don't need to go to the gym. I only go jogging and do a few press-ups and I keep quite fit." It was true, his business suit covered a well-toned physique.
She leaned toward him, a girlish pout on her full lips. A finger played along his sleeve. "Oh, please, Matty. You wouldn't want me to have to ask Daddy for money again, would you? His office is just upstairs."
Matthew sat down again. "But I really think we should discuss this..."
"Of course we should dear, later. I am in a hurry, and you said you were busy..."
Two minutes later Vanessa walked briskly out through the reception room, bidding a cheerful goodbye to Angela.
"Good-bye, Mrs Jago."
The door closed behind her. Sedately, Angela scraped the last morsels of yogurt from the corners of the carton and licked the spoon clean. After dropping the plastic pot into the wastebasket she dabbed her lips with a paper napkin which she then laid on a corner of the desk, placing the spoon on top of it, to be washed later.
The intercom buzzed. "Angela, would you come in here please, and bring my diary."
She rose from her chair and smoothed down her knee-length black skirt. Picking up the loose-leaf desk-diary she entered the main office.
Mr Jago had his back to the room, adjusting the blinds so they were three-quarters closed. His shoulders were tensed.
He turned around, and approached her. In her heels she was slightly taller than him. "Thank you, Angela," he said, taking the book from her. Opening the diary to the appropriate page he placed it in the middle of the wide, empty desk. "Would you read out my appointments for today, please?"
"Yes sir." Angela stepped up to the desk so that the edge of it was pressing against her belly. She placed her hands palm-down on the smooth surface and leant far forward until her serene face was inches from the book. Her large soft breasts, under the modest blouse, flattened against the dark wood. The black material of the skirt was taut across her large bottom. She was not slim, but her wide hips and bosom made her belted waist appear narrow. Concentrating on the page under her nose, she cleared her throat with a small cough and began.
"At eleven o'clock you have a meeting with Charles Gaunt to discuss..." THWACK! "...Oh!"
Matthew Jago's flat, hard palm struck soundly against her left buttock. She jolted forward slightly on the polished surface, then slid back.
"...To discuss the supervision of stock control. At eleven-thirty a meeting with Joan Proddy on how to address..." THWACK! "...Ohh!" Her right buttock was stung with similar force. Her tongue flicked across her full lips. "...How to address forward planning..." THWACK! "unnh!" Her left buttock resounded again. "...Planning in administration."
She sensed Matthew moving behind her. His hands on either side of her legs were gathering up her skirt, folding it into pleats high on her thighs.
"At twelve o'clock Peter Birch..." Ever so slightly she moved her hips away from the edge of the desk. His hands coerced the concertinaed skirt over the tight swell of her bottom. The black suspenders which stretched between stocking tops and garter belt gripped the plump flesh, running under virginal white panties which hugged like a second skin. She felt them being pulled up tightly into the cleft of her buttocks.
"...To examine ways to focus..." SMACK! "Ahhh!" The sound of sturdy palm hitting bare flesh echoed off the office walls.
"...ermm, to focus on capital provision..." SMACK! "...Oww!" The force of the slap rippled through her body. Her glasses slipped down her nose. Distractedly, she pushed them back with one finger. "Twelve-thirty, Jack Birch..."
Matthew grasped the waistband of her panties in both hands and brusquely pulled them down as far as the tops of her stockings. Angela quietly moved her feet apart, spreading her thighs slightly.
"...to discuss systemization..." SMACK! "Aoow!" A stinging heat spread across her left buttock. She drew in a faltering breath. "...systemization of..." SMACK! "Unnh!" She knew her bottom must be glowing red, matching the scarlet flush which was spreading across her face. She panted gently.
"Systemization..." prompted Matthew.
"Umm..." she squinted at the book beneath her nose. "Systemization of project tabulation.."
His hand now stroked gently over her tender bottom, barely touching the skin.
"One o'clock... Ooooh!" Two fingers pushed into the liquid secret between her legs, twisting firmly. For a moment the only sound in the room was the wetness of her welcome.
"Ohhh., fuck.." she whispered.
She heard his voice -- "One o'clock..."
She opened her eyes and struggled to see the words in front of her. "One o'clock, lunch with..." She squirmed on the penetrating digits, her big hips rotating like kneaded dough. "...with your father-in-law..."
Matthew's hand busied itself between her thighs like an inquisitive animal, burrowing and retreating. An occasional hard thrust would lift her up onto tiptoes.
"Ohhh... Two o'clock... ahhh."
Then his fingers slipped out and began to rub across the saturated lips, the damp hair, the throbbing button. Faster and faster he stroked, filling the room with the scent of her arousal. Her pussy. Her cunt.
"Two o'... Ohhhh!"
Every muscle in her body tensed as she came. Tremors rippled through her cushiony flesh. Once more Matthew pushed two fingers up inside her hot pit. It sucked on them fiercely, like a living animal. As she jerked and yelped on the rivet of his right hand, his left was unfastening his belt.
Eventually she quieted, her chin resting on the desktop, her eyes closed behind her glasses. She breathed deep and heavy.
The solid rod that was Matthew's penis tickled across her still-glowing bottom. His fingers left her -- empty, gaping -- and his cock nosed eagerly at her entrance. Then the thick hard length of him slid into her to the furthest depth, like a hot knife into butter, like nothing else on earth. With a small cry he held himself there, relishing the hungry embrace of her pussy, the soft welcome of her buttocks.
A low moan from Angela signalled her appreciation. He settled himself inside her, savouring her warmth, then began to move, pulling out slow and smooth, thrusting back quick and hard, faster and faster. He seized her hips and bounced himself into her. The sound of hard belly slapping into soft bottom was joined by his-and-her grunts, building to a rhythmic chant.
Twice Angela dissolved into breathless moans as another orgasm shook her. Soon Matthew was pounding her so forcefully that only the very tips of her shoes were touching the carpet. She gripped the edges of the desk until her knuckles were white. Her glasses tumbled off and fell onto the desktop as her ripe body juddered. Through her haze of pleasure she felt his rhythm change.
With an animal cry Matthew fell forward onto her. His hands slipped under her arms and firmly gripped her shoulders, his face pushed into her hair. His mind lost control of his body and his muscles went into spasm. All his energy converged at one spot and burst into the sighing woman beneath him. Four, five six times he spurted into the very centre of her, until all his strength was gone and he collapsed onto her warm, panting body.
For several minutes they lay there, his tired form sandwiching hers against the solid wood as their breathing slowed in unison. Angela had released her grip on the desk and her hands lay flat and limp beside her head. Matthew's fingers entwined placidly with hers. Softly, he kissed the flushed skin of her neck. His naked hips stirred slowly over the soft cushions of her bottom. His limp cock still lay thick and heavy inside her.
"Two o'clock..." he prompted.
He kissed the tip of her ear and raised himself onto his elbows above her panting form. "Two o'clock.." he said again.
Angela let loose a deep sigh and her eyes flickered open. She located her glasses and fumbled them back onto her nose, then gazed at the page before her distractedly.
Matthew pressed his nose into her hair.
"Errm... Two o'clock -- Simon Bone -- to discuss contract - oh..." She suddenly felt empty as his spent cock slipped out of her. "...contract renewal."
With a final kiss on her neck he lifted his weight from her. She continued to read haltingly from the book. Perspiration cooled on her exposed skin.
"Two-thirty -- Elaine Bloom -- to initiate design policy." She could hear him adjusting his dress behind her. "Three o'clock -- John Crouch -- to detail fiscal procedure." She paused and closed her eyes in anticipation as Matthew knelt behind her, before the great gleaming moon of her rump. Tenderly, unhurriedly, he placed a kiss on each violated buttock in turn. Reverently, he grasped the waistband of her panties and slipped them up over the glorious curve of her backside, pulling them snug against her squishy, hair-damp mound. A pungent blend of juices began to seep into the white cotton.
"Three-thirty -- Stephen Short -- to settle fund policy. Four-fifteen -- pick up Mrs Jago from the salon," finished Angela. She heard Matthew sit heavily on his swivel chair.
"Thank you, Angela."
She drew in a deep breath. Her breasts resumed their natural form beneath the modest blouse as she raised herself from the desktop and stood woozily on her high heels. She wriggled the tight black skirt down over her wide hips until the hem fell to her knees, cloaking the pink and white delights of her lower body, and she was a model of propriety again.
Distractedly she retrieved the diary and held it primly against her full chest with one hand. With the other she brushed the loose strand of hair back into place.
Matthew straightened his tie. "Angela, you have a run in your stocking."
She looked down. A pale ladder split the dark material from her right knee downwards. "I'm sorry, sir."
"We can't have clients seeing you like that. You had better take some money from petty cash to buy yourself a new pair."
"And if you need any other small items to look... presentable..." He made a vague gesture.
"Yes sir." The strand of hair was dislodging itself again. With regained efficiency she stroked it casually back and patted it down.
Matthew picked up a pen and made a show of looking over some documents. And erm, that perfume you're wearing.."
"Pandemian Rose, sir. Do you not like it?"
"On the contrary, it's very nice. Perhaps you should get some more of it."
"It's quite expensive, sir."
"No matter. We need to make a good first impression."
He gave her a hesitant smile. "That will be all, Angela."
She stepped out of his office, closing the door behind her. She placed the diary on the desk and for a brief moment, eyes closed, smoothed her palms over her skirt-covered bottom. Then she crouched to pull open one of the lower drawers, removing a new pair of stockings in cellophane wrapping and a fresh pair of white panties.
Wearing a soft smile, she left her ante-room and strode down the corridor to the bathroom, exchanging polite nods with passing colleagues, while pulses of warm liquor oozed from her pussy with every step.